"Lee-EbbTide" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lee Mary Soon)

MARY SOON LEE

EBB TIDE

I'd never expected to return to Britain, but there I was, standing in the
Immigration line at Heathrow airport. Apparently it used to be one of the
busiest airports in the world. When I had flown out twenty years ago, it was
already well into its decline. Now most of the buildings and all but one ranway
were closed down. Half the fluorescent lights had been switched off to conserve
power, and the temperature in the terminal was barely above freezing.

I squeezed my daughter's cold hand, glanced down to check that her coat was
still buttoned up. She had taken her toy rabbit out of the baggage trolley, and
was busy chewing its long ragged gray ears.

"Clarissa --" I tried to get her to let go of the rabbit, but she braced
herself, her thin face scrunched up with determination.

"Eat rabbit," Clarissa told me.

The old man ahead of me in the line turned round, his eyes narrowing as he
squinted at Clarissa and the vivid blue tattoo on the center of her forehead. He
nudged the woman beside him. "Look, there's one of those morons behind us. I
thought they were all meant to be upgraded by now'."

I pulled Clarissa closer to me, but she didn't seem to have heard. Or maybe she
didn't understand. Her vocabulary had peaked around her seventh birthday. Now,
less than a year later, the hard-gained knowledge was coming unraveled, more
words slipping from Clarissa's grasp every day.

Slowly the line shuffled forward, all of us smelling of stale sweat and
desperation. The handful of tourists and reporters had long since vanished past
the Temporary Visit booth. Anyone crazy enough to be immigrating to Britain had
to be desperate in one way or another.

The old couple ahead of me were refused entry. I couldn't hear the reason, but I
heard the old man swearing his face darkening to a choleric red. His wife tugged
at his sleeve, and led him away, the two of them trailing across the dim expanse
of the terminal.

"Next," called the immigration official.

Swallowing hard, I walked forward. In the chaos of leaving New York, sifting
through twenty years of accumulated junk to pack a single suitcase, I'd never
considered that I might be denied entry to Britain.

I handed the man my documents, and he paged through them with bored efficiency.
"Says here you used to be a British citizen."